Brick By Brick
by Clockwork Mockingbird
Summary: Once you reach the basement asylum, you're cut off from the world. Only doctors and nurses can see the patients, know about the patients, and talk to the patients. But one day, Mr. Gold meets his neighbor. Rumbelle.
1. Comfort

**A/N:** It will probably be about two to three weeks before I can update this, and I apologize for that. I just got a new job and other things have left me veeery busy. I have the next chapter planned but finding the time to sit down and write it and get it to where I like it will be a hassle. This should only be about three chapters long, but we'll see how that goes. Enjoy!

* * *

He is quite comfortable. There isn't a lot of room in this place, but he has enough, and all of it is his. There's a bed that isn't lumpy or stiff, and more than enough space for him to never feels closed in, but not too much to make him feel exposed. A single pillow fits easily on his bed, one that never seems too flat or too soft. In the winter, he gets extra blankets, and they're never scratchy, and always warm enough.

It could be much, much worse.

The single overhead light in the dead center of the ceiling never buzzes annoyingly, and he has complete control over it unless it storms. Sometimes it flickers, but it never worries him. The walls never close in, and water never trickles down from his tiny window when it rains.

They treat him well, perhaps better than he deserves, and he finds he can't complain. He gets small comforts, and they are enough.

Once, he'd thought having a small nightstand and some books would be nice. The next day they appeared beside his bed, along with a battery powered lamp. He spends his days reading to pass the time, and is quite content as long as there is new material to read.

All in all, he's comfortable.

He's never known anything else.

Gold licks his finger, idly turning the page. He's quite sure that mental institutions were supposed to be very different. The stuff of horrors with pills forced down throats and patients restrained or tortured. Instead, he has a room the size of a small apartment, with his own bathroom even.

The nurses aren't even mean.

A young blonde doctor once laughed during Gold's checkup when he mentioned it.

"It helps having such a cooperative patient," he'd said.

"I need to get better."

Gold is sometimes so comfortable in his room he forgets he's sick at all. He's seen his file, however. He knows better than to fight the doctors.

Outside...

Outside does something to him. The world seems false beyond his walls, reality itself crumbling just to laugh at him with a wide, mocking mouth. He's safer in his room, with its cinderblock and brick walls and doors that lock on the outside to keep everything away.

He has good food, running water, and whatever books the library feels like donating. He thinks he should ask for a bookcase soon. The books are beginning to pile up, and with his ankle weak as it is (he doesn't remember that happening, but he can't remember a time without a limp) having things to trip over isn't a good idea.

But bookcases have sharp corners.

He's not supposed to have anything sharp.

Gold makes due by stacking the books under his bed to keep them out of the way. He needs to remember to send books out when he's done with them, otherwise he'll have a mountain of books and nowhere to put them.

But the books are comforting, in their own way. He likes the world of fiction much better than the one outside. He can't hurt anyone in the stories, and he can always pick and choose which world he would like to visit.

Gold is quite comfortable. He has everything he could ever ask for, and should he want something else, he need only ask.

And then one day, he gets a neighbor.

* * *

Patients aren't supposed to see one another once they're in the basement. The basement is for confinement (for people who go into violent episodes at the drop of a hat). Once someone is basement level, they stay away from anyone without a medical degree.

So Gold isn't supposed to know he has a neighbor.

But the brick wall they share isn't that sturdy. It's relatively new, and money must be tight because some of the bricks wobble if he leans on them, and no one ever comes to repair them.

And so it comes as no surprise when he sits on his bed, back to the wall to read a book, one of the bricks simply falls out.

Gold stares at it for a minute, entirely unsure of what to do. The wall can't be safe, not with bricks just falling right out. What if it had hit him on the head instead of landing on his floor?

He should tell someone. Falling bricks are dangerous.

But first... he can't help it. He is only human, and humans are curious creatures, and he arranges himself on the bed until he can see into the next room.

Blue eyes stare right back at him.

They both stagger away from the hole, and if the shriek is anything to go by it's a woman he's frightened.

"I- I'm sorry," he manages, swallowing to wet his throat. It's been so long since he's talked to anyone (and he feels the 'I'm fine' to the nurse yesterday doesn't count) that his voice is rusty. He sounds as though he's been swallowing chalk.

"Are you... all right?"

Gold nervously inches towards the wall. There is only silence from the other side, and he feels he should do something. At a loss, he locates and picks up the fallen brick. He can at least put it back. It might make the woman more comfortable.

This isn't a bad place, despite what the outside world might think, so he shouldn't go around poking holes in the walls.

"You scared me," a voice says. It is tiny and timid, but there and it has spoken.

"I didn't mean to," he says sincerely.

"I know."

He's forgotten how to talk to people who don't give him medicine or food. What is he supposed to do now?

"Do you, um." Gold waits, turning the brick in his hand. "Do you know what happened? There was a sound, and then light."

Light? Gold risks a glance through the empty space, and finds he can only stare. He doesn't know who this woman is, or what she looks like (but she has the most beautiful blue eyes, like the ocean when it is deep and clear), but he knows she is sitting in a room much smaller than his, and all her lights are off.

"A brick fell," he tells her. He can't stop staring into the darkness. It makes him uncomfortable. "Turn on your light. It'll help."

He remembers his first days in the basement. He wanted the darkness, wanted to fight those who wanted to help him, but he was better now, and all his lights burned brightly. If the woman turns on her light, things will be better.

Gold hears shuffling, what sounds like someone standing and making their way around the room, and waits for a flicker of light from her side. She must be new. The room beside his has been empty for a long time. She's here now, however, and the least he can do after scaring her is help her get a bit of light.

His eyes adjust, and he can just make out a shape making their way across the far wall. She's groping her way across the room, hand on the bricks, searching for the light switch.

She should have come across it by now.

"I don't have a light," she says quietly. Her voice is louder now, just beside the gap in the wall.

"It's there. Look again."

"There's no bulb."

Gold leans closer, and peers up. There on the ceiling is a socket, and what looks like a pull string only a few inches long, but no bulb.

"That's not right," Gold decides. He moves away from the hole, towards his bed. "Here, can you see with my light?"

Fingers appear, curling over the brick. Gold sinks onto his bed, away from the hole. "Yes."

"We'll leave the hole open then. Until you get a light."

The nurses will fix that. No one should be alone in the dark. He can tell them in the morning, when they bring his breakfast. Maybe they just forgot to put a new bulb in when they changed the old one.

People forget things.

_Sometimes, people forget a lot of things, like magic and purple smoke, and a trilling, manic laugh that rings throughout a cage-_

Gold shakes his head, forcing the images away.

"Thank you," she calls, and she sounds very close, like she is standing just before the hole in their wall, mouth at the opening. "My name is Belle."

Belle. It is a pretty name.

"It's nice to meet you, Belle." There, a perfectly acceptable greeting. Maybe he remembers how to talk to people after all. "My name is Mr. Gold."

It is late, and Gold feels the fatigue pull at him. He sinks onto his bed with one arm tucked under his head. He can see her shadow like this, and the tips of her fingers tapping against the bricks.

"I'll leave the light on for you. Goodnight, Belle."

"Goodnight, Mr. Gold."

* * *

He wakes to the sound of his breakfast being placed on his nightstand. The plastic spoon wobbles on the tray as the nurse waits for him to sit up and hands him the food instead.

"How are you doing, Mr. Gold?" she asks.

He glances down at his breakfast of toast, scrambled eggs, and half an orange. "I'm fine."

The nurse nods, and turns on her heel.

Gold remembers Belle, and the darkness she spent the night in. "Wait," he calls. "Wait, there's... there is something-"

But she is already gone, closing the door before he can say anything more. Gold sighs. He tried. All he can do now is hope the nurses realize their mistake when they give Belle her breakfast. It should happen soon- she lives right next to him. Surely they'll be by in no time with some light and food for his neighbor.

He begins the awkward task of eating his eggs with a spoon. They are slippery, and like to slide off, but he manages to get the food in his stomach, even with a few detours to pick the egg off his shirt.

Gold reads the rest of his book, and finds the ending lacking. The boy gets the girl, all very predictable and dull, but the writing was entertaining enough. It has only been an hour since breakfast, and they will be by to collect his tray soon, and he eyes his leftovers.

The toast will be dry- he keeps forgetting to ask for jam- but he is still hungry and doesn't like oranges, so Gold picks up one triangle of the bread. He prefers wheat toast, but can tolerate white toast. He shouldn't complain, really. After all, there are surely people trapped outside that have it far worse.

"Mr. Gold?"

He very nearly jumps at the whisper, and manages to inhale enough of the bread to choke him. He coughs, grasping for his water.

"Are you all right?" Belle sounds small and worried, and he hurriedly gulps the water down so he can speak.

"Fine, fine," he assures her, coughing again. He doesn't sound very convincing, but it's the best he can do. He's still new at conversations. Or perhaps he's just rusty. He really doesn't know.

Either way, Gold isn't very good at talking.

"I was just..." she pauses, and he wonders why she has to gather her thoughts to speak, but he waits, because her voice is nice to hear. "Just wondering... do they bring food by? Or do we wait and go somewhere?"

Gold sits up and tries to catch her eye. His lamp is in the way, the shade just blocking the hole from this viewpoint, and he wonders if the nurse just didn't notice or couldn't see it. He shoves the lamp aside, and gets his first view of Belle.

She is pale, skin like marble, and those eyes are just as blue as he thought. Her hair is dark brown, but the light from the lamp gives it a red tint.

She's very tiny, her chin lifted to see through the hole that is eye level for him, and he's not very tall. She looks younger than her voice, her face youthful while her voice is timid but strong, like velvet over steel.

"They should have brought breakfast already," he tells her. The only time they don't feed someone is... "Are you going upstairs today? If you have new medicine, or you have to get a check up, you're not supposed to eat anything until after."

Belle's brows draw together, and something cool touches his stomach. Something is wrong. She's very confused. It's like his words don't make sense to her.

"What's upstairs?" she asks, leaning into the light. Dark circles have planted themselves under her eyes, and they bloom wide and strong against her pale skin.

"The hospital." Gold tilts his head to study her. "Do you know where you are?"

Her hand curls around the brick, slender fingers curving towards the light. "Someplace safe," she says quietly. "At least... that's what my father told me. I don't..." she stops to lick her lips, "I don't really know what's going on." She meets his eye. "You said we're under the hospital? And that we're supposed to get medicine?"

She should know. She should know all of this. Belle is young, but she is over eighteen, and she should not only know where she is, but be able to say no if someone tries to put her here without her permission. Her father could have tried, but Belle seems competent and could have fought him.

Gold really isn't sure what to do.

She's standing in darkness, peering into his room, studying his cotton pants and simple shirt while she stands in what looks like a hospital gown. He wonders if she has slippers for her feet.

This isn't right.

"We're in the asylum," he tells her gently, because he doesn't know how she'll react. "We're under the hospital, away from people we might hurt." He remembers red hair, and a name. "What did Doctor Hopper tell you?"

Belle looks shaken at the news. Her eyes are wide and confused. Her mouth parts and for a moment Gold wonders if she'll scream and yell, but she licks her lips again.

"Who's... Doctor Hopper?" She takes a deep breath. "Is he someone upstairs?"

"Belle, are you from Storybrooke?"

She nods, and Gold _knows_ something is wrong now, because she tells him she was born in Storybrooke has never even been outside the town limits. Doctor Hopper is the only psychiatrist within one hundred miles, the only one with the ability to put people in the basement, even if they don't want to go.

And Belle has never met him.

Gold picks up the half orange still sitting on his tray.

"Do you like oranges?" he asks.

She looks frightened now, but her eyes shine when he hands her the fruit. She bites into it with gusto, eating it quickly, far more quickly than Gold has ever eaten anything in his life.

She eats the measly half orange as though she hasn't had a bite in days.

It chills Gold down to the bone when her gaze hits the floor and she tells him, quite simply, that she hasn't.

And he knows that something is terribly, terribly wrong.


	2. Touch

**A/N:** It was either update today or update Friday, so I updated today. Bad news: Third chapter might take a while. Now that I'm trained in my new job, I am super busy. (Sorry)

* * *

Belle could listen to Mr. Gold read for hours. His voice is so smooth, the words pouring out with gusto. He never trips over any of the words, and for the hour or two he reads to her, the world makes a little bit of sense.

But he always shuts the book, because they only last so long, and she's reminded.

She's back in her dark, cramped room, with the cold chill creeping over her skin.

It's a blessed thing that the brick in their wall fell, or she'd be in total blackness. And quite without someone to talk to.

She's getting better at talking. The words have always been there, but getting them out is a challenge. Belle's mind is fine, she's sure of it. It thinks and connects the dots and she knows who she is and where she is.

She just doesn't know why.

Why was she in the asylum, talking to a man who looks no more insane than she is?

Belle studies Mr. Gold as he moves about his room. His much bigger room, with an overhead light and a lamp. A bed with a mattress and two blankets. Oh, and a pillow. What she wouldn't give for a pillow. Using her arm wasn't comfortable, and it left her cramped in the mornings, stiff and sore.

It could be worse she supposes.

Though how winding up in the asylum without knowing how or why is pretty bad.

But Mr. Gold seems normal, if a bit skittish. He reminds Belle of a wild deer with his long legs and his wide, frightened eyes. But there is a stubbornness behind his eyes, a strength buried deep she'd like to see more of. Every time she speaks, which is becoming more often as she gets used to the idea of her voice, he jumps.

Like he's afraid of her.

Some small voice whispers that he might be afraid of what he might do to her, but Belle doesn't like that voice.

Mr. Gold had been honest with her. He's in the asylum because being outside makes him violent. He put himself in here for the safety of others.

He's a _good_ man.

And she's not afraid of him.

Belle doesn't know what she's afraid of, but fear follows her around the small room, barely a step behind her as she paces the walls for exercise.

"...since the invention of the kiss, there have been-"

She hears him best when she stands by the hole, but standing in one place for so long makes her legs ache. She has to move, even if it's just to count the steps she takes around the room.

And she's pretty sure she's read _The Princess Bride_ before. Somewhere. It sounds familiar.

Her door opens.

Mr. Gold immediately falls silent. The nurses don't know about the hole. If Mr. Gold's lights are off, they can't tell there's a hole at all, even if they're in the middle of Belle's room (_cell_, the nasty voice in her head hisses, _cell, cell, you're in a cell, get out, get away, run, you can make it_) and don't look too hard.

Belle doesn't want them to patch up the hole. How is she supposed to get better at talking to people if she has no one to talk to?

The nurse isn't an option.

Mr. Gold has several different nurses throughout the day. One to check on him at night (Belle doesn't sleep well on her hard excuse for a mattress and watches them watch him), one for the morning, one for the afternoon, and a completely different one if he goes upstairs.

Belle hasn't gone upstairs yet. And she's only got one nurse.

Her nurse frightens her.

"Middle of the room," the nurse orders. She's a tall, broad woman who fills up the entire doorway without even trying. Her mouth is thin and unhappy, and it looks like it hasn't smiled in a very long time.

Belle steps into the center of the room. She tells herself not to look at the bricks to her right. The nurse will see if she does, and she'll put the brick back, cement it up tight so Mr. Gold can't talk to her anymore.

"Time for meds."

Heart pounding, Belle searches for her voice. It's buried, deep in her throat, sliding further down until it's in her stomach, a lead weight welding her to the floor. She swallows. Breathes.

Speak, Belle.

_Say something_.

"I'm... I haven't eaten... today," she gasps.

She nearly tears up at the sound. Her voice, finally, her voice! She spoke, she said something, she does speak to others after all.

The nurse gives her a hard stare. "Take your medicine willingly, or I'll give it to you myself."

Belle's voice shrivels and dies.

She knows she's five foot two, but as the nurse advances on her, Belle only feels tiny, helpless, and small.

The pills taste bitter, like chalk and rancid water as the taste is left on her tongue. There's so many and the nurse is pushing them all into her mouth, one right after the other. Belle turns her head (_no stop, enough, that's enough!_) but a rough hand grabs her chin, forcing her mouth open.

The nurse howls. "Bite me again, and I'll make you sleep for a week," she hisses.

Belle can't move, trapped between the wall and the nurse, both equally unmovable, and five pills weigh on her tongue. She tries to swallow them, because if the pills are gone, the nurse is gone, but her throat is clogged and she can't remember how.

The fingers on her jaw increase their pressure. She's sure she can feel her jaw splinter and crack, _it hurts_. Then the hand covers her mouth and nose. The wall digs into her head, hard thump, loud bang, and stars explode behind her eyes. She can't breathe, she can't breathe, just swallow the pills and she'll leave (_leave me alone!_).

She gags, retches, and forces the pills and bile down. Her ears ring.

The nurse lets go.

"Now was that so hard?"

She dusts herself off.

And shuts the door behind her.

Belle wants to curl up on the floor and just cry. Her limbs feel like jelly. Her knees can't support her and she slides to the floor.

"That's not right," Mr. Gold says.

There's venom in his voice. It's powerful and dark and ugly, but it doesn't scare Belle. He's angry. He's _furious_. But she's not afraid of him. She's never been afraid of him. Maybe she should be, but she has no reason to be afraid. It's not that he's not frightening, even being a small man with a limp, he was scary enough to warrant being locked away, but something about him seems...

She doesn't know.

But Belle isn't afraid.

Mr. Gold's hand folds over the brick. He shakes it, testing it, and part of her hopes it wobbles. The nurse would notice a bigger hole, but a bigger hole means being closer to him.

She feels safe with Mr. Gold.

"Belle?"

She feels dizzy.

"I think I have to sleep," she tells him, because the world is blurry and beginning to spin a bit. She doesn't know what they gave her. The medicine might make her sick. Never take pills on an empty stomach, her dad used to say.

Her dad without a face, or a name. She can't _remember_.

(_He didn't want you to go, but you made your own choice._)

"You'll catch your death," Mr. Gold says, and he sounds so wrecked, so concerned that Belle sits up.

The brick wobbles ever so slightly.

"I'll tear the wall down with my bare hands if I have to," he tells her. "Brick by brick, I'll tear the place apart." She can see his face, his eyes so serious on hers. "I'm going to get you out of here."

She believes him.

It might just be the medicine talking, she's pretty sure this is what it feels like to be high, but Mr. Gold promises her he will help her, and it is a promise she knows he'll keep. She feels safe, knowing he's looking after her.

He ducks, and Belle collapses against the concrete, ready to crawl into unconsciousness.

Warmth settles over her shoulders. Something covers her face and she nearly panics, but when her eyes snap open she sees the blanket from his bed being pushed through the hole.

"Stay warm," Mr. Gold orders.

Belle drapes the wool across her body, has a brief moment to wonder at the warmth of a blanket, thin, but thick enough to ward off the chill, and she is out.

* * *

She smells bad.

She's pretty sure she looks bad too.

Her hair has always been wild, but the curls are usually lovely. However, she usually has a brush. Or a comb, at least. But instead she's in the dark, wrapped in Mr. Gold's blanket, and her hair is a frizzy, bushy, huge mess.

And she smells.

It's not like she can _help_ it, though. The nurse only ever takes her to the bathroom across the hall once or twice a day, and never for longer than a minute.

Belle shivers. She wants a bath, and she wants it badly enough to ask.

The nurse hadn't asked where she'd gotten the blanket from.

"I told them I wasn't comfortable with two, and to give the blanket to someone else," Mr. Gold told her, smirking down at her. "Powers of persuasion, and misdirection. My nurse simply thinks another nurse gave that to you."

Belle smiles, then giggles, and soon she's laughing outright.

He looks so pleased with himself.

She's back to studying him, and though Belle hadn't thought she liked long hair on men, she rather likes it on Mr. Gold.

"How old are you?" she asks, because she's lived in Storybrooke her entire life and she's never even heard of Mr. Gold.

He shies away from the hole. Belle has to stand on her tip toes to see him.

"Mr. Gold?" (_It can't be that bad, and it doesn't matter anyways,_ the voice sighs, and for once Belle agrees with it.) "I'm twenty two, if it helps."

"Forty four," he says eventually. "You're so young."

She doesn't feel young, and tells him so. "I feel like I've been here forever, and it's starting to show."

Mr. Gold hesitantly scoots closer to the hole. Belle curls her fingers over the brick, wiggling the loose one. His side is warm, and she places both hands through.

"Your hands are freezing," Mr. Gold growls. He takes her hands in his, gently rubbing them.

Belle can't remember the last time anyone touched her so gently.

Mr. Gold, unaware that he's broken her for the moment, blows on her fingers, shocking them into warmth. Belle gasps, and her fingers latch onto his hands.

"Warm," she hums, leaning against the cold brick.

"It's not right," he says for the hundredth time. "They way they treat you."

"I haven't had a bath in I don't know how long," Belle admits. "I'm sure I look as frightening as I smell. You have a private bathroom, don't you?"

"Yes, I do."

He's still holding her hands, gently running his thumbs across her skin, and Belle could just _die_ the touch is so gentle. Safe, warm, careful (_caring_).

"You look as beautiful as always," Mr. Gold says quietly.

Belle can't process the words, her voice retreating once again, but her ears heard, and her heart rejoices.

If she could speak, if her voice wasn't so afraid, she would tell him the same, because she doesn't think he understands how beautiful he is too. But her voice always flees when she needs it the most (_do the brave thing_), and she can only offer a timid smile.

"I should ask for a newspaper," Mr. Gold murmurs. "We should know what's going on in the outside world."

Belle yanks her voice back into place. "Tell me about your son."

She tangles her fingers around his, properly holding his hand. Her free hand clutches the blanket around her shoulders, and she listens. Eyes closed as she listens to that amazing voice tell her about the son he'd lost.

"I'll find him," he says, squeezing her hand. "He moved away long ago, to get away from me, but I'll find him. I'll tell him I'm sorry."

Belle, as always, believes him.

"I'll take you with me," Mr. Gold whispers. "We'll go far away from this place, you and me."

She opens her eyes.

He's promising her.

She believes him.

"I'll go with you," she promises.

(_Forever._)


	3. Search

**A/N:** Apparently this is going to be four chapters. WHO KNEW.

* * *

It takes Emma six months of searching, between her other sheriff duties and all kinds of little deeds Mayor Mills keeps finding to keep her busy, to find the elusive Mr. Gold.

He owns the entire town.

Emma thought it was an exaggeration when Granny first mentioned him, but a look at the deeds and documents showed she really wasn't kidding.

No, seriously.

The entire town.

Most of the houses are his, just rented by other people. He owns the apartment building Mary Margaret lives in, and nearly all of the other houses either used to be his and were bought, or are on his land.

Emma doesn't even want to know how many businesses the man owns. The pawn shop hasn't been opened once since she moved here, and the library is boarded up as well (a quick look at the ever-growing list shows that he owns that too), but the auto shop, the inn, the diner, and five other miscellaneous shops are all his.

The others were put up as collateral for loans of his, so it's entirely possible that in the future he could own those too.

Despite being known of, no one seems to actually know the man.

And no one's seen him in a long time.

Most of the rent is collected automatically and deposited directly into his bank account. Those who don't pay on time get a knock on the door from his hulk of an assistant and are either kicked out or forced to pay a late fee.

But Mr. Gold himself hasn't been seen in...

Emma does a quick ask around town.

Most people can't remember. Granny guesses about four or five years. No one is really sure, but it's definitely been a while. A really long while. Long enough that Emma is justified in asking questions.

So she learns, by asking, that Gold isn't remembered too fondly, but he had some kind of breakdown a few years back, so obviously he's not entirely there, so we shouldn't really judge, but he's still an ass, and why are you looking for him again?

Emma doesn't know why exactly she started looking for the man who owns the place. Idle curiosity maybe.

But then curiosity gave way to suspicion, and then finally a bit of concern when she discovered his home address was a large pink house locked up tight. The assistant (she really needs to _remember_ his name next time he tells her) lets her in to poke around when he deals with Gold's bills and payroll, revealing an airy, open space, an awful lot of dust, and a whole lot of nothing.

The assistant never goes upstairs, only sits at the kitchen table to write the figures in a ledger, type them into a computer, and sort the mail.

Emma is not as cautious and marches straight upstairs.

Everything is covered in dust, though up here the furniture has coverings, and none of the beds have bedding. The blinds are closed, the house is silent, and no one has been here in a long time.

"Does he usually disappear for years at a time?" Emma asks.

"He's got a son in New York. Maybe after his breakdown he's spending time with him," comes the half-hearted guess.

It's a reasonable theory, however uncaring the thought, but Emma's gut is telling her to keep digging. Maybe the son's number is around here somewhere. She's Sheriff now. She should know who this mysterious, angry, breakdown having owner of the town is.

Not even Henry knows him.

Emma heads back to the station, juggling her lunch, her keys, and her phone when it occurs to her. David was in the hospital for who knows how long before the pieces were put together (and she's still not sure about some of those pieces by the way). If Gold had a breakdown, surely Archie and the hospital would have records of some kind.

According to the town, Gold had a legitimate malfunction of some sort, not just a temper tantrum. Surely he got some help.

She can head to the hospital and see what she can dig up.

...but after lunch, because her stomach demands food _now_, and it is not about to wait any longer, thank you very much.

* * *

Beside her, Henry lets out a truly impressive belch. Emma laughs, polishing off her sandwich.

"Nice one."

"I'm trying to learn to burp my name," he says, chugging more of his drink.

"That's... a nice skill to have," Emma decides with a laugh.

If the kid wants to learn to belch his name, he should do it. He's ten, and god knows Emma was doing worse things when she was his age. Though she didn't have a home at the time- well, she did, but not a nice one, just another house run by someone who got as many kids as possible in order to get a bigger paycheck and then spent none of it on stuff for the kids.

She ran away from that one twice she wants to say. Or maybe it was three times. She doesn't remember.

Henry can burp all he wants. If that's all he's worrying about today, he's got it made.

"So you've never heard of Mr. Gold?"

Henry shakes his head. "Nope. I've seen his name on the pawn shop sign, but that's the only way I know him. My mom doesn't talk about him." He stops to consider. "Or maybe she does and I just don't hear?"

Emma doesn't know why Regina would wait for Henry to be elsewhere before even mentioning someone, but the reasons she can come up with aren't good. Maybe Regina doesn't know him either. It's not like Emma's asked her.

She's back to her hospital theory, and decides to swing by just to check the place out. After dropping Henry off, because he's not actually supposed to be here right now, but he tends to pop up when she's least expecting him and get her into trouble.

He's definitely hers.

"Come on, out you go. Otherwise your mother will ground us both."

Emma makes it to the hospital without her phone ringing and manages to walk the floors for a while. She knows what Mr. Gold looks like now. _The Mirror_ had an old picture of him printed years ago when he bought his pawn shop. The article wasn't nice, something about selling things that he took as collateral from people who couldn't pay their debts, painting him to look like a villain, but Emma isn't so sure. It sounds like a gray area to her, but she doesn't have the whole story.

The town was inclined not to like him, but so far all Emma has managed to gather is that he's in his forties, owned everything, kept his business going by accepting no excuses whatsoever, has a son no one could name or point out, and suffers from some kind of problem, or had at one point.

She doesn't know the man, and maybe if she did everything would be totally different, but she's looking for him all the same.

It might be a pride thing. She's put a lot of time and effort into locating him. She'd be kind of pissed at herself if she never did.

Whale spots her circling the nurse's station and heads over. "Here to revive the rest of our coma patients?"

Emma chuckles and scoffs at the same time. It sounds weird.

"Looking for someone," she admits, glancing around.

"Need any help?" Whale offers, scribbling something onto a clipboard. "I know where just about everyone is, and if I don't know I can find out."

That... would actually be pretty helpful.

Emma can't get a read on Whale. She knows he hits on anything female and breathing, but he's a good doctor, backs off if the breathing female says no (though not a lot of them did). He also reports a lot of things to Regina, but not as much as he used to. He just goes about his business and tries to stay out of the way as much as possible.

He favors neither Regina nor Emma especially, and is very careful to be fair now. If he helps one with something, he'll try to help the other, but nothing to hurt the other. Need a medical file? Sure. Need a doctor? Alrighty. Looking for someone? Come on in. Getting his hands dirty doing something he probably shouldn't? Nope, he's got other stuff to do.

It's a survival technique: stay away from feuding females.

But whatever works for him.

"Yeah, actually. I'm looking for someone named Gold."

Whale hands his paperwork off, throwing her a glance over his shoulder. "Mr. Gold? Why are you looking for him?"

Emma doesn't really have a good answer, so she shrugs and tries to look official. "I got a couple of questions for him." And it's true enough, because she wants to know who he is and where he's been this whole time.

Whale either accepts it or decides not to question it and glances at his watch. "Well, he's not really supposed to have visitors, but he's due to come upstairs today, and it might do him some good. If just happened to be on this floor around, say, three, and maybe, wandered over to that area when I wasn't around..." He casually spreads his hands in a 'what can you do' gesture. "I wouldn't be able to stop you from conducting Sheriff business, now would I?"

Emma smirks.

She also wants to smack herself for to coming to the hospital in the first place, but she'll take the victory.

Then something occurs to her.

"Come upstairs? The hospital has a basement?"

Whale just looks at her. "Well, yeah. It's the psychiatric ward. Only place big enough for individual rooms. Gold's our only patient, but law says we have to have so much space, so he's got the place to himself."

She couldn't find Gold because he was in a _mental ward_?

How the hell did no one know that?

"You know, actually, I'm going to need to talk to Gold right now. I have to be back at the station at three."

That one was a lie, but only kind of. She usually tried to be back at her desk at that time to give herself some kind of schedule. That's also when the grumpy people starting calling her about kids walking through their property to get home after school. She liked fielding those calls herself rather than having to sit through long, rambling messages.

Also Mary Margaret liked to swing by and ask what she wanted for dinner, and if Emma wasn't there to request something, she'd get something weird, like eggplant casserole again.

Whale's head drops back and he sighs towards the ceiling. "It's inspection day isn't it?" he asks. "I should have known it was your turn to walk the place. Last time it was Regina, and I don't remember who before that. Graham maybe. Guess you drew the short straw, huh?"

Emma has no idea what's going on, but she's going to roll with it. She paints a bored, self-suffering look on her face. "Yeah well, elected representative of the town, you know how it goes." She hopes she was right about that. From the sounds of it, someone not connected to the hospital has to inspect the place randomly- maybe for funding, who knows- and talk to certain patients.

Whale rubs his forehead. "Yeah, well, maybe you won't stomp around and demand to know every single person's job and if they're really necessary. Where do you want to start?"

He's being cooperative, but not overly so, and lets her pick where she wants to go. But something still isn't sitting right with Emma.

"Only place left is the basement," she says. "Good thing you reminded me, or I would have missed it. Then I'd have to come back and start all over."

Whale smiles and waves her to a door. "Normally we try and bring Mr. Gold up here to get him to interact with people, but I might as well do his check up while I'm down here."

She's expecting a dimly lit staircase, a bleak, dripping room with a buzzing overhead light, and a mean looking nurse at a desk. She gets the annoying lights and the nurse right, but the basement's actually pretty clean and nothing's dripping. Still kinda dark though, but not a lot of basements are known for being well lit.

Whale sighs, aggravated. "Is that light blown again? We just changed it last week."

The nurse's expression stays flat. "It kept flickering so I turned it off. Drove me crazy."

"I'll send maintenance down here later. Sheriff Swan is here for inspection, and I'm here for Gold."

Gold's room is locked from the outside, but it's a mental ward so that's how it works. And the door swings open to reveal a pretty nice looking space with cream colored walls, a bed, a bunch of books piled in the corner, a nightstand and a lamp. There's another door off to the side that gives way to a decent bathroom.

The air's a little stale, but there are no torture devices or nail marks on the walls, and the man sitting on the bed doesn't look abused or mistreated in anyway. No needle marks on his arms, he looks well-fed, thin, but naturally so, and clean.

"Hello, Mr. Gold. Check up time. Do you mind if Sheriff Swan joins us today?"

Gold shrugs and sets his book aside. He gives Emma a calculating look before offering Whale his arm to have his blood pressure taken. Whale does his thing and Emma watches Gold watch her. She makes a turn around the room, looking for anything that doesn't belong. He's got a pretty nice set up, all things considering.

"Have you seen Doctor Hopper?" she asks.

"Yes."

"When?" Emma has no idea how often he's supposed to drop by, but he's the only shrink in town, so surely he's the one that checks up on Gold.

"Last week," he tells her, and he's got an accent she can't place.

The nurse decides this isn't worth her time and announces she's going on break. Whale nods, and as soon as the upstairs door closes, Gold straightens.

"Are you here for Belle too?"

Whale's head, bowed over his clipboard, comes up. "Belle?"

"They're mistreating her, and she doesn't belong here."

Whale had said Gold was the only patient down here. Emma's starting to smell a rat.

The Doctor looks genuinely confused. "Here, as in, here? The basement?" He looks around as if he's expecting someone named Belle to drop from the ceiling. "Mr. Gold, you're the only patient down here-"

"No," Gold says, firm and sure. He sets his lamp on the floor, revealing a hole in the wall. "I'm not."

A hand appears from the other side, fingers curling over a brick. Blue eyes peer from the darkness.

"Oh my god," Whale breathes. He darts out the door, Emma hot on his heels. She's right beside him as the door next to Gold's is flung open, and _this_ is what Emma was imagining at first, this is the creepy basement seen in horror movies with no light, a chill creeping over her skin, concrete and a bed with no mattress.

And standing in the middle of the empty room is a woman, thin and uncared for. She backs away from Whale, who stops immediately and retreats a few steps. He gives Emma a look, and she creeps forward a step or two before the woman shrinks into the wall.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Emma promises her. What the hell is going on? "What's your name?"

Gold appears in the doorway. The woman's gaze flickers to him, hopeful and bright, and Emma motions him forward. "This is Belle," he says, draping his robe over her shoulders. "Get her out of here."


	4. Light

Light

Neither of them can remember the last time they went outside. Belle can't remember ever going upstairs, much less out the doors. It's been so long since she saw more than concrete walls and angry nurses that she clings to Gold when Whale ushers them out so he can "get to the bottom of this".

Gold isn't going anywhere without her.

And apparently she's not going anywhere without him either.

Sheriff Swan is a smart woman. She doesn't touch Belle, or force her to do anything. She stands off to the side and lets Belle take the first step away from her cage. Belle sets the pace of slow, careful, and deliberate steps up the stairs.

They step into the brightness and noise.

Belle flinches away from the light, burying her face in his shoulder while her eyes adjust. Gold's own eyes burn in the sudden onslaught of light, but he can't bring himself to look away from the woman on his arm. Clinging to him.

Trusting him to protect her.

To keep her safe.

He's _going_ to keep her safe. Whatever that might mean, whatever it takes, Gold will not let anything happen to Belle ever again. He has to be strong now, must ignore the whispers that hiss that the world is big and bright and not right, not right, all wrong, very wrong. It _feels _wrong, like something's missing.

He shoves the feel aside and focuses on chocolate curls and bright blue eyes.

Gold takes Belle's hand in his.

"It'll be alright," he promises her, even as he is unsure.

Belle squeezes his hand once, hard, before lacing their fingers together.

Gold doesn't have a lot of strength, and even less bravery. But whatever he has, whatever she needs, he'll give. It'll be alright. All alright. He's here, at the top of the stairs, and Belle is standing beside him.

They're both afraid.

But they're together.

And for now that's enough.

Sheriff Swan nods to an empty room with wide windows. "In here," she says, careful to speak to them both and touch neither. Her steps are slow to match Gold's, who, with his limp and the way Belle is clinging to him, can't move very fast.

The Sheriff leaves the door open behind them.

Neither of them can remember the last time that's happened either.

* * *

Belle is found to be malnourished, dehydrated, pale, and in possession of high blood pressure and heart rate.

Gold could have told Whale that, and he's not even a doctor.

She's frightened, even though Whale is being gentle and Gold is holding her hand, Belle is shaking just a bit. But her chin is raised, her eyes are steady and wide, and her voice trembles only a little. Sheriff Swan stands beside the open door, off to the side enough to show she's not blocking the exit, but near enough to keep someone else from entering.

"She needs some sun," Whale says softly, writing furiously on a chart.

The Sheriff snorts.

"No, I mean actually needs some sun. Soak up some vitamins, get some fresh air, get used to the light again." Whale's grip is white knuckled on his pen. "Who knows how long she's been down there."

Gold offers a guess. "I met her weeks ago. Maybe two months." It is growled softly, and he has to tell himself to not squeeze Belle's hand too hard.

She feels very fragile.

Belle looks out the window while everyone absorbs the information. Neither the doctor nor the cop look happy. In fact, Gold is certain they are furious, inches away from exploding, but they keep themselves in check while Belle stands on shaky legs.

She doesn't let go of him, though Gold slacks his fingers, and she stands in the center of a sunbeam.

Sheriff Swan watches her with an unreadable expression. The men hold their breath. Belle closes her eyes and drinks it all in, hand tightening around Gold's. She squeezes his fingers and smiles when he squeezes back. She smiles wide, teeth and gums and bright sparkling eyes when she turns back to them.

"Can we go outside?"

Whale opens his mouth, but it's the Sheriff who answers.

"Absolutely. Let's go."

So they do.

Gold doesn't know what's going to happen when he goes outside, but with Belle holding his hand and smiling at him, he can't refuse her. He wants to blame his leg for something and try to stay behind, but then she might not go if he doesn't. She wants outside and sunshine.

So Gold gets a cane from Whale and tries to remember the rhythm of walking. It throws off his balance, the plastic and metal in his hand, but Belle centers him, grounds him, and together they are able to make their way to the patch of grass just beside the hospital.

It's not much- eight square feet, if that, of stubborn grass that refuses to be conquered by asphalt or gravel. Most of it is going brown. But the sun streams down on them, and the wind blows gently, whipping their hair into unmanageable tangles.

And it's okay.

This- Belle's hand in his- feels real and right. The sun in his eyes and the wind in his hair: it's all real. Belle is real. He is real. This is Maine, this is Storybrooke, and he is Mr. Gold, pawnbroker, lawyer, and this is all quite real. No matter how it strange it feels.

He supposes it's allowed to feel strange. The world is a lot bigger than twelve feet of cinderblock and brick.

The world is a warm hand in his, a breeze on his face, and Belle's laughter ringing in his ears.

Her laugh. Her smile. Her arm around his. Her head on his shoulder.

It is all bright and warm and real.

Gold is going to keep her safe. Now and forever, he will protect her. He got her out of that cell, out of that basement, away from that nurse and into the light. Now he just has to keep her where she belongs: amid the sunshine. Even if he has to stay here with her. Even if he has to lurk in the shadows.

Whatever it takes, he vows.

"It's warm," Belle murmurs, nuzzling her cheek into his shoulder.

"Yeah," Sheriff Swan says quietly. "It's a pretty nice day." And tilts her head to the sky.

* * *

"I've never seen her before," Doctor Hopper tells them, his voice raspy and confused. "I don't treat a lot of people, and I remember them all. Belle French is not one of my patients, and I have certainly never declared her insane."

There is a file being passed around. It has Belle's name on it, and the people with the power are discussing it. Sheriff Swan's face grows darker the more she reads, Doctor Hopper's grows more concerned, and Doctor Whale stands against a wall, fists clenching until his knuckles are white.

"Somebody did," Gold says suddenly. "Someone decided that Belle was not only mentally incompetent, but that she should be locked away from the world. They wanted her put away, somewhere no one would find her, or care how she was treated."

"They picked the wrong hospital."

"They picked the wrong town," Sheriff Swan snarls, snapping the file shut.

Gold holds out a hand. "May I see?"

The Sheriff hesitates for a split second, eyeing him. Belle sleeps curled up on a bed, an actual bed, her head against the mattress by Gold's knee. He sits at the foot of the bed, one hand casually wrapped around hers.

Belle hasn't let go of him yet.

"Sure," Swan decides. "You're a lawyer. Be lawyer-y."

"Miss French doesn't seem to be suffering from any kind of mental disorder," Archie began, half muttering to himself. "In fact, considering the abuse you say she went through, she seems very well adjusted. Skittish and frightened to be sure, but not paranoid, delusional, or a danger to herself." He spread his hands. "I'll have to have a few proper sessions with her to say for certain, but as it stands right now, I see no reason this woman should have ever been locked away."

Gold skims the file quickly, but his mind takes in each and every word. Someone locked Belle away. That meant she was in the way. A threat to someone. A secret. He wants to know who, he wants to know what secret, and he wants to know why. And he wants them to know when he knows, because once he finds out, nothing will save them.

"Paranoid schizophrenic," he reads out loud. "Prone to violent outbursts, hallucinations, and self harm." Gold meets the eye of every person in the room. "In the two months we spoke through that little hole in our wall, she never once had an episode, a hallucination, or caused herself any kind of harm. She never attacked the nurse that brutalized her- never even defended herself."

Disgusted, he throws the file onto the floor.

"That is full of nothing but lies, and it's past time Belle gets out of this place. You either help me get her out, or you get out of the way."

Archie appears to be thinking.

"Mr. Gold, it's been suggested for a while now that you attempt to live on the outside. To see if release is a possibility for you." He watches Belle shift sleepily. "If Miss French were to stay with you-"

"Yes," Gold says immediately. "My house is big enough for the both of us, or she could stay elsewhere, if she's not comfortable with that option."

No one suggest that she might not be okay living with him. They just want her out of the asylum, and Belle clearly trusts him. Maybe they can help each other. Maybe this won't work at all. No one really knows for sure. But they'll try anything. He'll do anything.

And so his neighbor becomes his roommate.

"I'll take you guys home."

Gold is so afraid this won't work, that he won't be strong enough to help Belle, but he meets the Sheriff's gaze.

"Thank you, Sheriff Swan."

She nods. "Emma," she tells him. "It's Emma."

Like a lightning bolt, images, sounds, plots and plans, _memories_ slam into his mind. Coward, spinner, the war, _Bae_, the dagger, magic, power, stained skin, a twisted smile, loss, the wrong choice, mad, evil, darkness, Belle, the library, the ladder, her startled laugh, his lips on his, _so she needs a home_, and now he is truly aware of how wrong the world really is.

"Emma," Rumplestiltskin says, and prays his voice is level. His arm wants to tighten around Belle, pull her close, and hold her against him and never let go. He wants to fall at her feet and beg her forgiveness.

He wants to weep because she's alive.

He wants to weep in sorrow because she doesn't remember him.

He wants to weep in joy for the same reason.

"What a lovely name."

* * *

He finds Belle in the backyard, dressed in the clothes he bought for her just last week, soaking up the sun.

She's reading a book.

He clutches his cane tightly in his hand and bites his lip to keep from calling out to her. She deserves moments like this, where she's lost to reality, devouring a book in the sunshine, even as the clouds begin rolling in and it smells like rain.

Belle is alive, and reading in his backyard.

Neither of them want the moment to end. She because she can't tear herself away from the words on the page. He because she's sitting there, within reach, breathing, reading, mouth curved in a smile, hair whipping around her as the wind picks up, and _alive_.

Belle is alive. And there's not a mark on her.

Her dress is made to keep her cool in the summer heat: all bare shoulders and arms and a peek at her back. There are no scars, no wounds, nothing to indicate she was ever tortured or mistreated in their land. She's not bruised or injured. She's not afraid of the outside anymore.

She's Belle, even as she's not. Beauty, strength, bravery, wisdom, courage, everything that makes her Belle, and it wasn't changed. She wasn't changed. She is still Belle.

No curse will ever take that away.

She doesn't remember.

But now he's Rumplestiltskin, and he does.

The curse will end soon. He can feel it. Though there is no magic here, just trinkets scattered throughout town, and nothing he can do anything with, the air is different. All he can do now is bide his time. Emma's son has everything well under control, and once Emma believes, the curse will simply fall apart.

Belle will leave him then.

He wants to tell her he loves her, but it might frighten her. She might leave too soon (and if she leaves at all it will be too soon), and he isn't Rumplestiltskin to her.

Surely he can be Mr. Gold a little longer, and have her smile.

"If you stay out there much longer," he calls out, happy beyond reason that she doesn't jump at his voice, "you'll melt."

"And what does that mean?" she asks, gathering her books and standing.

"I'm saying your as sweet as sugar, which melts when it becomes wet."

"So do wicked witches."

Gold laughs, ushering her inside. "You are no witch," he assures her.

Belle graces him with her smile, and he tucks the memory away for later, when she will be gone and he'll need it to remember her by.

"I got some burgers for dinner," he says to distract himself. "I thought it was high time we had something not very good for us, so I got fries and apple pie as well."

Belle's face is pure delight. "I can't remember the last time I had a hamburger."

They devour the food with glee, eating until they were filled to the brim, and then having a slice or two of pie anyway. Belle giggles when she drops sticky sweet apples down her chin, and devours the rest of her dessert with her fingers.

He tells her about the items he finds in the shop, she tells him about the books she's reading. Though he can't remember the words, he know what happens in each of them, but sits through the plot twists anyways. Belle's voice is excited and it flows with ease as she describes betrayal and true love and entire worlds created within pages.

They light a fire despite the warmth still lingering in the air because it's nice to see the flames and feel the heat. It's nice to be able to control what they do, to do something for no other reason than they want to. So they have a fire in September because they can, and curl up together on the couch because they want to.

Belle talks because she can. Words that used to tangle in her throat now clamber to escape, and he listens to them all. He laughs with her, teases her, converses with her, holds her, keeps the silence with her.

Falls asleep with her.

And wakes to her rapid breathing, her wide, confused eyes.

"Belle?" Alarmed, he sits up. His neck is cramped from the slumped over position he'd fallen asleep in, but he ignores the pain.

Belle blinks, shaking her head. "Just a dream," she says. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." There's something in her voice. It's not fear, not confusion, but something in between. He doesn't like the sound of it, it can't be anything good, not when he's this happy, but his heart hammers in a way that gives him hope.

"Tell me," he suggests, all but begging. "You'll feel better."

Belle lets out a nervous laugh, but collapses backwards against him, her head against his chest, her hand covering his. She watches the fire, still snapping merrily at the logs, and gathers her thoughts.

He wants to turn his head the scant inch to the right and press his lips against her skin.

"There were ogres," she says. "And fairy wands, and thieves who steal them, but sometimes the thieves aren't bad, not when they save a life with what they stole. I fell from up high, with a ladder wobbling under my feet and a curtain in my hand." She glances at his hand, resting innocently on her stomach. "He had clever fingers. Could turn straw into gold. More money than he could ever spend but he kept spinning more and more..."

_Because he liked to think it made him forget, but really it just reminded him of simpler times, times he wanted back so badly it hurt._

Belle gives herself a little shake. He tightens his hold on her.

"You were there," she tells him, idly tracing her finger along the back of his hand.

"Was I?" Gold asks. "Oh dear. Must have been a terrible nightmare."

Belle frowns into the fire. "It wasn't though," she insists. "It wasn't good or bad. It-it felt real. You felt real." Her brow furrows, sweat beading along her forehead, eyes lost. "At least, I think it was you. You had a different name, a powerful name. It was full of magic. Those hands had magic about them. That's how you turned the straw into gold." Her voice is distant, her hand limp in his.

Is there enough magic left in them to bring back memories?

"Belle?"

She is silent.

No, please, don't take her, he wants to beg of his creation, his curse. Don't take her because she might remember. Let her forget and stay here. He can take care of her. He can do it right this time. He just needs the chance, please, _please_-

"Old magic," Belle whispers. "Powerful magic." She looks at him then, the wheels turning in that wonderful mind of hers. "Dark magic."

Gold can barely find his voice.

_Please_.

"What was it?" he asks, so desperate he could almost sob. "What was my name?"

Belle's eyes flutter. Lose focus. Blink. "I- I don't-"

"Belle, tell me, please. You have to say it. What was my name?"

"It ...Rumplestiltskin. Your name-" And recognition ripples across her face. "Your name is Rumplestiltskin. _Rumplestiltskin_." She smiles, _smiles_ at him, the monster who cast her out, hands framing his face and there is forgiveness and something he doesn't dare hope for in hers. "I remember," she breathes. "I love you."

And he says now what he should have said then, what she knew, what he feared, and what he will never hide or shy away from, never throw aside again (a lesson hard learned, but learned all the same). The most powerful magic of all, here in this land where there is none. She smiles at him and he is nearly complete.

"Yes," he says, because he accepts the love. Her love. He welcomes it, cherishes it. "Yes," he weeps.

And returns it. Wholeheartedly.

"And I love you, too."

They have time now. Time for light and books and happiness where before there was only fear and darkness. There's time for everything.

He kisses her properly now, sweetly, softly, and chases her for another instead of pulling away.

Rumplestiltskin isn't going to waste a second of it.

Fin


End file.
